


The Measure of a Man

by you_cannot_define_me



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Aroace Spock, Aromantic Spock, But I left it vague enough that you can interpret his feelings for Jim and/or Bones however you want, Canon Compliant, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Friendship, POV Spock (Star Trek), Protective Spock (Star Trek), Queerplatonic Relationships, Spock Loves James T. Kirk, T'hy'la, Triumvirate, aromantic asexual spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24739330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_cannot_define_me/pseuds/you_cannot_define_me
Summary: Spock had never known that kind of love, but he could tell how much it hurt.
Kudos: 21





	The Measure of a Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hi friends so it's Pride Month and your local aroace felt like writing a Star Trek one-shot to go along with it (because it's part of our history lol). I like writing canon-compliant fic, so you'll see which episode this is from as you go. I hope you enjoy!

As Dr. McCoy walked down the hallway, back to the relative isolation of sick bay and his quarters, Spock stood by his Captain and observed. It was what he did best; after all, that is what a good Vulcan would do. A good Vulcan would feel no sympathy for the agonized man in front of him. No pity, no slight tugging on his heart and in his gut telling him "Go to him. Help him." Spock realized, as he had so many times before that he had ceased counting them, that he was not a good Vulcan.

No, deny it as he would were his Captain awake, there were feelings that stirred in Spock's chest as he looked at the man he so respected--slouched on a desk, despondent and heartbroken as Spock had never seen him before. He was weak. Vulnerable. That was precisely why Spock was glad of his Vulcan blood and training; such weakness was a terrifying thing.

Spock remembered how the doctor had looked at him moments earlier. There had been no anger in his eyes, none of the usual mocking gleam. In its place was something that he was not accustomed to receiving, and the sight of it kept Spock silent as the doctor spoke to him. There was pity.

But why? Pity, for his freedom from the pain he had seen others suffer so often, as he was seeing his Captain suffer now? Pity, for his strength? Pity, for the fact that when he closed his eyes there were no memories of loves long gone that came to the surface of his thoughts?

But Spock had listened to McCoy as he spoke, with the quiet in his voice that only came when he had stepped outside his role as Doctor and had become someone that might be called a friend, and had heard that same pity in his voice. There was no mistaking the emotion that filled his words. He spoke of triumph, of joy, of highs, and with the same strange reverence he spoke of failures, defeats, and lows. It was glorious, he said. Love.

Were he with the Doctor, Spock would perhaps have had a retort to respond with, a turn of phrase to needle his old sparring partner and call an end to the discussion. But the man in front of Spock then was simply Leonard McCoy, and so Spock was silent. And under that perceptive eye, so filled with something Spock had never understood, he felt empty.

The hallway was silent now, the sounds of retreating footfalls long faded, but the feeling had not left him. Spock supposed he had always been empty in some way, which perhaps was why he could find no real place to belong--he was not fully anything, and so could never be fully accepted. But Jim was so full. Of what, Spock had not known, exactly; he had assumed it was ambition at first, in the early days of his time serving under the brash young captain. But he soon saw that he had been mistaken. Just as Spock did not desire command, his captain did not desire to progress beyond it. He had formulated numerous hypotheses after that discovery: perhaps the vigor with which the captain lived was because of his youth; perhaps because he had never known loss or defeat; perhaps because emotionalism clouded his logic; perhaps he was simply in denial. But one by one, all of these ideas fell away as well, and the human who had previously been only puzzling became fascinating to Spock. And then, Jim became his friend.

Spock looked down at the man before him, and he understood. Jim was full because he loved. Unquestioningly and at times unwisely, but that was what gave it its radiance--the beauty of a thing bestowed that was unearned. The doctor had this kind of love--different somehow, to Spock's mind, but fundamentally the same--and Spock had felt it from them both. He had heard it in McCoy's voice, had seen it in his eyes, in the hallway. He felt it whenever Jim said his name, with that peculiarly soft cadence that gave it two syllables--which, although the captain did not know it, was in fact closer to how it was meant to be said. 

Though he did not entirely understand it, Spock knew also that this love had different forms. The kind of which McCoy had spoken so highly just moments before, the kind which now afflicted Jim, was not the same as what Spock had felt from them. It was certainly a confusing emotion, and he did not envy them the pain it clearly caused. But he envied their fullness, the ease with which they could show compassion and care for others, and he wondered if perhaps that was what he had been missing. Spock did not love how they loved.

He had known that in the silence as he stared back at McCoy, and he knew it now as he looked at his captain. Jim.

But, though the Vulcan in him shied away from admitting it, Spock knew that he did indeed love James Kirk. As with all things, he did so in his own, quiet way, but that did not detract from the knowledge. He knew, as he stood there, that he loved the doctor--despite how...crotchety, perhaps, was a good word, he could be--and he knew most of all that he would do anything for these men. He would die, if need be. Was that not the same kind of illogical, unwise, unflinching love that they had shown? Was not the relentless dedication that made them so radiant the same as that which Spock had for them?

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, all of them in the span of a few seconds, Spock realized the feeling of pity that pressed in his chest had not left him. Was this what McCoy had felt, looking at him in the hallway? A pity for an abscence instead of a presence, but pity nonetheless. But if Spock could share this feeling, perhaps he was not so empty as he had thought.

Were anyone around to see him, he would certainly have found some reasoning that cemented his actions within the bounds of logic--but there was no one with Spock then but Jim. So Spock crossed the room and stood at his side, bent over him, placed his hand on his Captain's pinched forehead, and whispered, "Forget." Perhaps he emptied Jim of something then, perhaps not, he did not know; but as he removed his hand, the furrowed brow uncreased, and the tightened fists loosened. A trace of a smile played on Jim's lips. And in that moment, Spock felt full.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading friends! Just a quick parting note for anyone who was hopeful but unsure: as I mentioned in the tags, I tried to leave things vague enough that you can interpret them however you want, really, but I definitely view Spock as aroace and that's how I intended to write him here. Anyways I hope you enjoyed! I have another Star Trek one-shot that I should be posting soon so stay tuned :)


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